Bleeding Hearts
by RebelSheepSayMoo
Summary: It was the memory of him that kept her alive for so long.
1. Prologue

**Title:** Bleeding Hearts  
**Author:** RebelSheepSayMoo aka Brittany  
**Genre:** Angst/Romance  
**Character Pairings:** Draco and Hermione  
**Rateing:** R or M for mature themes dealing with suicide and depression, a bit of language.  
**Summary:** It was the memory of him that kept her alive.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing except the plot.

**A/N:** This is a re-write. The first attempt of this story just wasn't going the way I wanted it to. I wasn't pleased with the layout and over all style so I wanted to start over. Most of the story is the same... I think. I still don't know the exact direction I'm taking this, but hopefully it will end up more of what I had originally intended. Please bear with me and thank you to everyone who kept up with the first draft. I apologize.

* * *

Prologue - _Memories_

The clouds rolled by slowly as she kept her eyes fixed on them. Cradling herself in the large chair, she slowly thumbed over the old, tattered frame locked in her grip. The photo in the frame was indeed a very worn out one. The figures in it still had the same smiles on their faces from the day it was taken so long ago. It was all she had left to remind her of him. Had she not have had the picture she still would have his image permanently engraved in her mind. Though that would never disappear, it was still nice to have something physical to hold on to.

For a split second she averted her eyes from the sky to the photo. The brunette smiling back at her was herself. She smiled gently as the silver-streaked blonde hugged her past image and kissed her on the forehead. The couple positively glowed.

Sighing deeply, Hermione leaned her head back on the chair. She clutched the frame in her arms as she allowed her mind to dive into the abyss of memories made many years ago.

They were memories of the people in the picture.

They were their memories.

They were memories of him… before he went away.

Snuggling deeper into her overstuffed chair, Hermione relaxed. The visions played before her eyes. This was her daily ritual, bringing back the past. Hermione figured that if she thought hard and long enough, these memories would bring him back to her. It had been thirty years, and yet they were still as fresh as morning dew.

Keeping her eyes shut, she floated through time to the first day they had met. It had been uneventful and really meaningless. He had been disgusted with her presence and they had started off as enemies. Moving forward she recalled the events that brought them closer. Finally she reached the part of this mental documentary that she liked the most, the day they fell in love.

A single tear slid down her face and her lips began to tremble. Sniffling a slight bit, she bit back the sobs raging in the pit of her stomach. Crying would come later. For now all she wanted to do was remember…

…And let her heart bleed out all the pain she felt inside.


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

_Thirty years ago…_

Hermione never did understand the concept of death. As she gazed over the glossy polish of the casket before her, she just couldn't bring her mind to accept the fact that it was her own father and mother in there. To her, they were merely being buried alive, unfortunately caught in a deep slumber that no one could wake them from. Whether or not they were really dead or just sleeping made no difference to her.

The funeral had been a small one. Though the Grangers were relatively friendly people, they seemed to lack actual friends. Very few close neighbors showed up along with what little family Hermione had left. She had been furious to see such a short amount of people care about their death.

Clinging to Harry's hand, she let a tear slip down her delicate cheek. Though so much anger consumed her, she was greatly relieved to have Harry and Ron there with her. Words could not express the amount of gratitude she held for the Weasley's and all they had done for her.

The caskets were slowly levied into the pit as the priest Hermione had never met before now read scriptures from the bible. For the last time, she silently wished her parents good-bye forever as the wooden box was lowered out of sight.

Their death was tragic. If it had been something normal like a car wreck or illness Hermione could be more understanding. But it wasn't…

They had been murdered. Hermione recalled the night all too clearly. A group of Death Eaters had crept into her house late at night. She had tried to fight off as many of them as possible, but it was difficult being one witch with one wand against a dozen and a half cold blooded demons. They had come for her, but realizing that there was no way they could capture her alive, they ended up killing her parents instead. Hermione had witnessed it with her own two eyes. When the death curse had been sent to her mother, time itself slowed down. Her father had lunged in an act of protection, receiving the curse himself. When the second curse struck her mother, time came to a screeching halt.

Hermione had snapped. Some would call it something along the lines of an adrenaline rush. Others would consider it a psychotic break down. She had sent curse after curse towards the creatures in her home. Some of the curses were ones taught to her in school. Most were dark curses she had learned from books in the restricted section of the library. She had killed ten of them before the rest remaining apparated out of her house. She was then left alone to deal with the lifeless figures of her dead mother and father. She was left alone to die as well.

Everything had changed. Calling her a new person would be cliché. She was more than just a new person, she was a breed all her own. The plain, unnoticeable Hermione Granger was lost in a sea of black clothing symbolizing the mourning she would endure for the rest of her life. Hidden behind various concealment charms were thin white lines adorning her arms and legs.

She had always thought she was the type of person who could cope through anything. That coping didn't seem to work now. Somehow, Hermione had found herself in the bathroom slitting her wrists with a sharp kitchen knife. It had surprised her how much the pain on her arms felt good compared to the pain inside. She repeated her actions on multiple occasions. The more she cut the more she found she liked it. The pain was addictive and it soothed her.

Walking back to the small church, she stayed hand in hand with Harry. They weren't dating, never had. They were more of like brother and sister so the thought of them having any relationship like that seemed incestual.

Ron was silent as he took Hermione's other hand into his. None of them said a word as they got back to the chapel. Reaching the parking lot, she was at a lost. Turning to her two best friends her eyes were leaking tears from an empty faucet.

"Now what?" she whispered weakly. Harry beckoned her closer to him and wrapped his arms around her. Hermione couldn't take it anymore. All the emotions starting pouring out of her as she sobbed endlessly in his embrace. Ron's heart visibly shattered as he watched her breakdown. Harry slowly rubbed her back with his hands, squeezing her tightly in his arms, and kissed the top of her head.

"It's ok, Hermione," he said trying not to cry himself. He couldn't stand seeing her this way. "You're going to make it through this, Ron and I will make sure of that. We're both here for you."

Ron rocked back and forth of his feet. He wished there is something he could do for her, but he knew there wasn't. All he could do was be there for her; she'd have to fix the rest herself.

"Hermione," he said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. Hermione disconnected herself from Harry and moved into Ron's now open arms. He reenacted Harry's movements and began stroking her back. Hermione continued to cry in his chest.

"You know you have to come stay at the Burrow?" he asked. Actually it was more of a command than a request. Hermione began to pull away and reject his offer, but Ron wouldn't have it. He kept his grip tight on her until he felt her relax into his arms and stop struggling. "I'm not taking a no from you," he said stubbornly. "Harry and I are not going to just leave you alone for the rest of the summer. You're coming to the Burrow until school starts and we'll figure everything else after that." Ron could feel Hermione's bushy hair bob up and down as she accepted his proposal. The boys sighed to themselves.

"I just can't believe," Hermione began, stumbling over her words. "I just can't believe that they were murdered like this. And for no good bloody reason!" The anger inside her began to build as her world came crashing down again. "Why them? Why me? How can Death Eaters be so relentless like that?"

"Because they're Death Eaters," Harry stated cautiously. "Voldemort has them trained to be that way. They have no heart."

"I should have done something," she said. "I couldn't have saved them!" Her breaths were staggering more now as she fell into a deep hole of shame and guilt. "I was stronger! I could have killed all of them! I could have been quicker—"

"Hermione there was nothing you could have done," Ron interjected. "You fought as hard as you could and did better than anybody else given the circumstance. You were outnumbered eighteen to one, this is nobodies fault but the ones who killed your parents. Don't blame yourself."

Hermione pulled away from Ron. Her eyes mingled hate, fear, and grief. She tried to wipe away the tears streaking down her face but they kept coming.

"I don't believe that Ron," she whispered. Harry sighed deeply and cringed with her words. Slowly he began running his fingers through the stray hairs framing Hermione face.

"You have to believe it Hermione," he said. "If you don't accept the fact that this isn't your fault, you'll never survive. Trust me, I've been there several times."

He statement was in deed true. Harry had been the martyr for so long, he had forgotten what it was like to let go of death like this. The guilt on his shoulders weighed him down so much it was beginning to break bones.

Hermione turned her head around to look back at the two graves. They sat side by side at a distance of one hundred feet or so from her. She sniffled as she tried to make out their names etched on the marble tombstones. _Bill and Geneva Granger _they read.

They were dead. They were actually dead. The two bodies laying in those graves were the ones of Hermione's mother and father.

And she couldn't believe it at all.

* * *

In relation to Hermione, Draco never really understood the concept of life. One could only define it to a point, and then the rest was such a mystery that it didn't exist. People go day by day in a phase they deem "living." But was it?

Draco looked down the cliff he stood over. The waves at the bottom of the rock bed crashed together giving off a very comfortable sound. The water seemed to move with no effort as it slowly eroded away the giant land mass. It seemed trivial, how something so insignificant as water could carve the greatest wonders of the world. Draco thought over again the question in his head.

_Was it?_

No.

He snorted. His life wasn't one worth living. Since a baby he was bred to hate and destroy. He was a killer, a monster. He was everything his father wanted him to be. But he was never alive.

Draco couldn't take this monotony anymore. He had been initiated as a Death Eater first thing over the summer. He had spent that summer working his way up the chain. Now he was in the inner circle. Draco sighed. He had become the most powerful wizard of them all. Voldemort favored him far more than he ever favored his father. So why was he miserable?

Draco didn't care for the raids. He wasn't much for all the bloodshed and screams. He never did quite get the same kick out of torturing people like his father did. Don't get him wrong he was no saint either. Draco smirked as he remembered his first raid as a Death Eater. It was some man, unimportant of course, that would sadly remain faceless as well as nameless in Draco's memory forever. He was the target. Draco had massacred his family before his eyes and then left him last to beg for death. The pleadings still rang in Draco's ears… and they still tasted sweet.

Draco had searched far and wide for an answer to why he was the way he was. Though he wasn't overjoyed to kill, he still preferred the screams over death's silence. He had read in a book once about a condition muggle doctors diagnosed people with. They deemed their patients bipolar and had a sort of techniques to treat it. It made sense to Draco, this bipolar disease. He had once thought of seeing a muggle doctor about this, but thought better of it when he realized what his father would say.

That left him where he was today. Alone, standing on a cliff, with only his bitter thoughts to keep him company.

He had no drive, he had no reason. He knew what he was and what he always will be. He was evil. A type of evil that many had not encountered. He wasn't one of those ancient curses that you could just read in a book. There wasn't an explanation for him printed out on a sheet of parchment. He was what he was, and only he knew about it.

He was the perfect killing machine. Draco had no heart, and he knew it. He did what he was told and thought nothing about it later on. He could murder innocent families one by one and it have no effect on him what so ever. That was part of the reason why this monotony was eating at him. He could go on and on with the slaughtering, and still be bored.

The waves continued to crash below. Draco took a steady breath. With all the people he had sent to their graves, he often wondered himself what it would be like to die. That was something that interested him. Life had no meaning. To life, he was just there. He was the dust of Earth, not having any significance than to cover things up and leave others to clean after him. Death on the other hand, who knew? No one was sure about what happens when you die. There are speculations, but no guarantees. Draco liked that. With where he was today he was only guaranteed one thing; a life of programmed murders and no thrill on the side.

Draco wanted that thrill; he yearned for it. Nothing satisfied him anymore, so what harm would this do?

Taking a deep breath, Draco felt his body lean forward. The ocean breeze played on his face like silk. The smell of salty water filled his senses as he smiled.

He leaped.

Leaped from the cliff, leaped from this illness he had carried around all his life. He leaped to freedom.

Feeling the cold water wrap around his body was the last thing he could remember before everything went black.

* * *

Pain.

Not just any pain but one that he recognized. His head throbbed with an ache causing him to moan and stir from his slumber. Draco's eyes slowly pried open to reveal darkness.

_Was he dead?_

He whole body ached as he tried to extend his neck and scan his surroundings. He was in a room, a dark one at that. He could hear the crackling of a lone fire. When his eyes rest upon it, he noticed how blurry his vision had become. He could barely make out the light shooting from its rooted spot. Taking a wheezing breath in caused Draco to launch into a fit of coughs. His body jerked in agony as one cough ran after another.

Draco moaned.

He wasn't dead. Damn.

The sound of a door opening filled his ears and was soon accompanied by a soft hum. Draco couldn't see who it was but could tell by the humming that it must have been a woman. His first instinct was to grab his wand. It just so happened that he had left his wand back at the Manor before his little escapade. Draco cursed himself for his stupidity.

"I see you're awake?" the figure to his right said. Her voice was sweet and sensitive. Draco guessed she must have been no more than in her mid twenties. No longer feeling threatened, Draco relaxed and attempted to respond to her question.

His vocal chords had other plans for as soon as he tried to talk, he felt himself in another raging fit of coughs. He mumbled incoherently to himself.

"Shhh…" whispered the lady. She put her hand on Draco's forehead. His skin was on fire. Reaching to a table nearby, she grabbed a cloth soaked in ice water and put it on his forehead to relieve the fever. "You were in a very bad state when I found you," she said. "It may take awhile for you to recover. You must have been in the water for hours. I'm surprised you weren't dead with hypothermia."

Draco said nothing. He hadn't the energy to. With the pain he was in now, he would most defiantly prefer death. He could slowly feel himself slipping back into a state of unconsciousness.

"I'm Elvyra, don't worry. I'll take care of you…"

Draco slipped further and further into sleep with only one name floating in his mind.

_Elvyra…_


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Elvyra…_

Draco stroked his chin as he gazed out the train window. His mind was quite empty compared to what it used to be. Nothing was racing and yet he couldn't quite say he was at peace. He was far from it as a matter of fact. That's what struck him so odd. He should be sorting through a massive sea of thoughts by now, but he wasn't and he still didn't feel calm. There was one thing nagging at him though.

He still couldn't believe he had jumped.

Sure he had contemplated it millions of times; suicide. He never thought he'd be bold enough to pull it off though, and leaping off a cliff honestly surprised him. If only he had that kind of drive for other things in life. Oh the irony.

The landscapes outside the window crept by soundlessly as Draco continued to lock eyes with them. He could almost make her face out in the trees. He thought about her, about what she could be doing right now.

Elvyra had been so kind to him, and yet he hadn't retaliated. He wasn't sickened by the fact that she was a simple muggle who had found him nearly dead and restored him back to life. He wasn't disturbed by her willingness to keep a complete stranger in her house. She had this weird effect on him that he couldn't describe. The incongruities between them held a lasting effect on him.

Elvyra was different from any other muggle, not to mention person, he had ever met. She lived in a tiny cottage in the middle of a forest far from any city or town. She lived off the land she harvested herself, growing her own food and collecting all her necessary supplies from the nature that surrounded her. She had built Draco's strength up with her own concoctions and herbs that Draco had never even heard of. The naturalness she had displayed was refreshing for a person so accustomed to magic and technology. Draco had stayed with her for about two weeks before departing to come back to school. His father hadn't questioned him about his whereabouts. Lucius hadn't really cared.

Draco could see her smile in the sky above the mountains. Her eyes lit up with a kind of compassion and wisdom that caused a small warmth to play in Draco's heart and the faintest of smiles to cross his lips.

The door to the compartment slid open with a squeak, erasing any signs of happiness or comfort from his face. Draco snapped his head around, ready to hex the creature that had disturbed his state to euphoria. When his eyes laid on Hermione Granger, he was too shocked with her appearance to even mutter a random insult.

Hermione ignored his inquisitive stare and proceeded to store whatever bag she had in the storage space above the seats.

"What happened to you?" Draco finally remarked when he came around seconds later. Hermione didn't reply and rolled her now black eye liner ridden eyes and sat down. Draco couldn't help but gawk at her gothic clothes and make up.

"I asked you a question," he said in aggravation to her silence. Hermione sighed and opened the battered book sitting beside her. She pulled the quill out of her hair that was holding it up in a loose bun and began writing on a blank sheet of paper in the journal resting on her lap.

Draco's temper began to rise. He hated being ignored, especially by someone he considered lower than him. He also hated being withheld from information. He wanted to know what had caused this extraordinary change in the mudblood, but she refused to cooperate. So he resorted to pushing her buttons until he could get the answer he craved.

"Did Potter and Weasel decide what's best for them and finally disregard you once and for all?" he asked with a sneer in his voice. Upon receiving no answer or slightest acknowledgement that he had spoken, he tried again.

"Let me guess, you've finally realized what a piece of nothing you are, and are now dressing the part?"

Nothing.

Draco snorted. She was being stubborn. Giving up he started to turn back to the window, but let one more comment slide off his tongue.

"Wonder who died…"

Hermione stopped writing. Her eyes stayed glued to the journal in front of her and Draco could tell she was trying very hard to steady her breathing. He had struck a nerve. He smirked and folded his arms across his chest, feeling very cocky about his accomplishment.

"So somebody did die?" he drawled. "A family member?" he asked, not really caring. "Must have been somebody close, or else you wouldn't have gone through such… drastic changes."

Hermione stayed silent and gripped her quill harder as he antagonized her.

"A friend? No that would be impossible seeing as you have none…" Draco's patience was wearing thin. Suddenly, the light bulb clicked. He remembered something his father said about some Death Eaters killing off a mudblood family at some point during the summer.

"Your parents?" Draco shot out. Hermione's fists were white from clutching her quill so tightly. "They finally got what was coming to them, eh?"

He knew he shouldn't have said it. That's the thing about Draco Malfoy; there are plenty of things he knew he shouldn't do, but his pompous nature never prevented them from happening.

Before he realized what had happened, he found himself pinned to the seat he was sitting in, and Hermione on top of him choking his throat. She was so small compared to him, it didn't take much to flip her over.

"You fucking bastard!" she screamed as she struggled under his weight. Draco grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head. Hermione continued to scream obscenities at the top of her lungs. Draco could only understand about half of what she was yelling, and he was thoroughly impressed. He didn't think she knew a fraction of the words coming out of her mouth.

The compartment door slammed open and Draco felt a pair of hands rip him off Hermione. He was thrown against the nearest wall hard as his eyes came in contact with a pair of furious emerald green ones.

"What the fuck were you doing to her?" Harry yelled before connecting his fist with Draco's jaw. A blur of red flashed before him as he watched Ron helping Hermione off the seat. Draco hissed.

"She attacked me you piece of worthless shit! I was defending myself!" he argued.

"Yeah, sure looked like that from where we were standing!" Ron yelled, blocking Hermione behind him. She still looked livid and it seemed like she would pounce on Draco again had she been given the chance. Snatching her bag from the overhead compartment, she grabbed her stuff and followed Ron out the room. Harry threw Draco back down on the seats and left without another word.

Draco rubbed his sore jaw and groaned.

What a great way to start off the year.

* * *

"I'm fine! Honestly!" Hermione shrieked. Ever since they had left the train Harry and Ron had been pestering her about what had happened in the compartment with Draco. Hermione didn't feel much like talking about it at all. The words he had said still stung her and she wasn't about to admit it to anyone. Since her parents' funeral, describing Hermione as a recluse would be an understatement. She had hardened into a brick and wouldn't let anyone know how much she was hurting inside.

"Are you absolutely sure he didn't hurt you?" Harry asked.

"Cause if he did I swear I'll kill him!" Ron interjected. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued her way down the hall.

She couldn't help but despise the way people were looking at her. The looks on their faces hinted as if she had grown a horn or something. Most were shocked beyond words. Other's turned to the nearest being and began breaking into a low whisper. Hermione sighed in agitation and ignored them the best she could.

Hermione Granger had always been little Miss Perfect. She was deemed head girl this year which came to no surprise to anyone. In the past she had been modest and very plain. Lavender and Pavarti had broken their necks in getting her to wear the tiniest bit of make up to last year's Yule Ball. Hermione knew that her new look would be very hard for people to swallow. Not that she cared.

The old Hermione was dead along with her old look as far as she could tell.

Reaching the Great Hall, she headed straight to the Gryffindor table.

"Is that Hermione?"

"What happened to Hermione?"

"Love the new look!"

"When did _that_ happen?"

Harry and Ron shot evil looks to anyone who dared press upon the topic of Hermione's clothes. When they had first seen her at the funeral like this, it did come as a stun to them. Harry understood immediately, having seen this trend in the muggle world himself. Ron took a bit more time getting use to it. Neither of them argued with her and supported the change to the best of their ability.

The looks they gave to the students questioning her helped to some degree, but did nothing when the Slytherin table got a look at her. The entire table erupted simultaneously in gasps and laughter. Hermione sat on the table bench with her back facing them. She tuned out the crude comments they shouted across the Great Hall. How hard could it be? They had been doing it since the first year.

"Well check out Miss Know It All!"

"The Gryffindor Princess must have yanked out that pole shoved up her ass!"

"You think Dumbledore will let her stay Head Girl dressed like that?"

It took all of Harry's strength to hold Ron down. He would have killed someone had he the chance to. Shoving him in the bench, Harry mumbled some words that Hermione couldn't hear. Ron instantly calmed down and settled into his seat. He grudgingly took a fork in front of him and occupied his focus and energy in bending it in half with his bare hands. Hermione sighed to herself.

* * *

His skin had always been one of his finer attributes. White as a ghost, it had captured the eyes of the vast majority of the female population at Hogwarts. In a way it bothered him, the paleness. He had never envied the ones with tanned skin. He knew the caramel coating wouldn't suit him at all. Not to mention being in sunlight for a certain amount of time tweaked his nerves. He hated sunlight. He hated the day.

But there was still something about the albino qualities of his skin that unnerved him. It wasn't natural, being so pale. Also unnatural were the piercing grayish blue eyes he stared into as we speak. If his skin was his first main attraction, his eyes would defiantly be the bait that reeled his prey in.

Draco knew all of this. He knew how he was overall an abnormal person. He also knew that his stunning looks could get him anything he wanted.

Except her.

The events on the train this morning still shocked him. He never knew Granger had it in her to be so violent. The strength she showed when knocking him down also came unexpectedly. Tenderly he rubbed his sore neck. A very light pink tint was visible as he did so.

Her hands. Her eyes. Her anger. It was _beautiful_.

Draco grew up in a world of hate. He had lived in a house that thrived on malicious behavior all his life. Anger was not new to him to any degree, but what he had seen in Hermione had in a way startled him. That fear evolved into amusement which soon followed a queer arousal.

A small grin crept upon his lips. He was turned on by Hermione Granger's anger. Sure he had always loved teasing her in the past to see that frustration. During the summers he had longed for the days of returning back to school just so he could begin his torments again. Seeing her flustered in irritation had always pleased him. But this was different.

What she had shown wasn't just irritation or annoyance. It was pure anger. It was hate. The way she had leaped out of her seat and tried to strangle him was nothing more than abhorrence. Draco predicted that if she was strong enough, she would have gladly made the choice to kill him.

Draco's grin widened. This revelation satisfied him beyond imagination. To most, it would be a scary thought that someone could be capable of taking their life. To Draco it was a whole other ball game.

It meant she wasn't the untainted Hermione Granger anymore. It meant she wasn't the same girl that would only use deadly tactics for defense. It meant she wasn't a saint.

It meant there was a chance she could turn evil.

No doubt she had it in her now. Her parents were dead. They had been murdered, she witnessed it with her own eyes. With time and the right opportunity, Draco knew he could change her. She would make a wonderful asset to the Dark Side.

Draco hummed with pleasure. As for now he would give anything to have her hands around his neck again, amongst other things.

Voices rung muffled outside the bathroom door. He quickly erased the smile on his face and replaced it with his normal look of loathing and disgust. Using his wand, he concealed the pink marks plaguing his perfect porcelain skin. Leaving the bathroom, he marched to his room, having no appetite for the grand feast in the Great Hall.

For now, he only wanted to be alone in peace so he could contemplate the new ideas stirring in his head.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

There's no time like the present.

Well that is what she was once told, but Hermione had a difficult time living like that. The future was always unknown to her, bringing too many disasters that had caused her to turn her back from it. Therefore, she dwelled in the past.

It could be a lovely place sometimes. Not all of Hermione's memories were dark and miserable. She could often recall many wonderful events she had participated in along side Harry and Ron. Just thinking of her two friends was satisfying enough.

However, it seemed to Hermione that the darkness of her past always had a knack for overpowering and shadowing the good times. It was absurd, how she lived in a continuous cycle. Each time she found something worthwhile, it was connected to her parents' death and therefore abandoned.

Ron and Harry tired so hard to bring her back to them. As awful as it may sound, they'd rather her just completely forget about her parents' death and move on as if nothing had happened.

Of course they had never mentioned this to her.

Thoughts of nothing buzzed in her head as she drifted down the corridors of the ancient school. Hogwarts fascinated Hermione to no end. She loved creating her own miniature adventures of wandering down unknown hallways and discovering new statues and paintings. There was always something weird and vibrant she had not encountered yet, and the thought of finding it thrilled her.

Classes had begun some odd weeks ago. Hermione had created her schedule during last school year. Now looking at her choices, she hadn't the spark anymore to attend them. She had by no means dropped in her academic reputation and was still the top student. However, being so advanced gave her the opportunity to slack off, and that she did. Class just no longer seemed relevant.

And neither did the direction of her travel.

Choosing to not pay attention could have its downfalls. It didn't occur to Hermione that she was heading to a part of the school that Gryffindors were not accepted. She never realized exactly how far down the dungeons of the school extended, nor the lack of light that accompanied them.

Soft pitter patters were made with each connection between her feet and the stairs she traveled on. Before long, Hermione found herself standing in front of a large painting of something she didn't recognize. Figuring it preposterous to have a painting this size in such a random part of the school, she came to the conclusion that this was the Slytherin house. A sudden chill flew up her spine, causing an unpleasant tingle at the base of her neck.

She shouldn't be here.

Before Hermione had much time to react, a loud crack followed by a piercing squeak filled her ears. The painting was opening.

Looking around, Hermione damned her situation. There was absolutely no where to hide. She could always turn and run for it, but the chances of that working were slimmer then the passage she now stood in.

"May I help you?"

The words were lazy yet sharp to the point. Hermione cursed herself even more. She had indeed slacked off in class, but this was just ridiculous. She made a mental note to get her head out of the clouds more and think about what she was doing. Facing her interrogator she tried her best to play it off.

"No," she said as if nothing was abnormal.

"You know people like you in situations like these are typically killed on the spot," Malfoy drawled. This is that stereotypical point where one would casually look at his or her finger nails, or check their watch out of boredom. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, merely leaned himself against the wall with an amused expression on his face.

"I honestly doubt that anyone would kill me for being down here," Hermione huffed.

"What makes you so sure?"

Hermione paused. He had a point. Finding herself unable to answer that question brought a whole new feeling of panic and fear. She _really_ shouldn't be here.

"Well I guess I'll just leave then," she snapped and turned to leave. She found herself locked in Malfoy's grip before she got to far.

"I can't just let you leave like that," Malfoy breathed into her ear. He wrapped his arms around her and pinned her close to his body. Normally, Hermione would retort with something sarcastic, but being in the place she was and the person with, the thought seemed unappealing and rather stupid.

"Now, what are you doing down here?" Draco asked again. Hermione didn't answer for she really didn't know. Draco chuckled at her silence. "Does somebody need some… _assistance_… from me?"

"Oh good Merlin no, that's the _last_ thing on my mind!" Hermione choked. She could have slapped herself. Draco clicked his tongue three times and began tightening his embrace on her. He had her close enough now to his body to where he didn't need a deep breath to get a whiff of her scent. Closing his eyes, Draco let himself indulge in the pleasant smell of cinnamon emitting from her hair. He wondered if she tasted as lustrous as she smelled. Suddenly, the truth of what he was thinking hit him like a brick, breaking his train of thought, and bringing him crashing back into reality.

He hated reality.

He gave Hermione a little shove, sending her away from his body. Regretfully, the coldness of the dungeons swarmed him a measly second later. He almost wished he could have her back in his arms to fill the void.

Almost.

"Leave," he bit out.

Hermione turned and left without looking back, leaving Draco alone to ponder the event that had just taken place.

* * *

"No, I'm telling you that's wrong!" Ron hissed.

"Look in your book, it's in there!" Harry argued back.

"I don't need to look in the bloody book! I know you're wrong."

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"Hermione!"

The two boys had been bickering on the subject for some time now. Hermione guessed she must have tuned them out about ten or fifteen minutes ago. Gazing at her book, the words printed on the pages weren't strong enough or important enough to penetrate her mind and make any sense.

"Hermione!" Harry prodded again, poking her with a finger.

"What?" Hermione asked annoyed with the interruption.

"Isn't it true that by adding moth wings to jellied goat's milk you can achieve a stronger effect for a typical pain killing potion than by just putting in the wings by themselves?" hr asked completely missing her annoyance.

His voice madeher wince.

"By adding what to what you can do what?" she asked flabbergasted.

"He's wrong isn't he?" Ron asked before anything could be thought of none the less said. The slight headache Hermione was feeling was beginning to grow into a much larger one. She rubbed her temples and squeezed her eyes shut.

"I don't know…" she said in frustration.

Where had her mind wandered off too?

"What do you mean you don't know?" Harry asked.

"You know everything!" Ron stated bluntly.

"I mean I _don't_ know!" Hermione snapped. She flipped the book in front of her shut rather forcefully and began packing her bag. Without a second thought, she got up and stormed out of the library. Harry and Ron remained seated, completely baffled as to what had just happened.

"Was it something I said?" Ron asked dumbfounded to his best friend's actions.

"No, Ron," Harry sighed. He knew something was up with Hermione. He also knew it had to have something to do with her parents. However, rushing to her side was the last thing she wanted him to do, so Harry had to fight back the urge and continue with the studies that lay before him.

* * *

_Keep walking_… 

Hermione struggled to concentrate on breathing correctly as she made her way to nowhere in particular. Her brain screamed at her that something was wrong, but she couldn't think for more than five minutes at a time to figure out what it was.

She felt dizzy with all the anxiety stirring in her. Where was it coming from? Why was she so edgy? It was as if the ticking clock inside her had shut down and the lack of movement was slowly driving her insane.

Fresh air… that's what she needed… fresh air.

Hermione fled to the nearest door and threw herself outside, gasping for a decent breath of that fresh air she longed for. Tears came crawling out of her eyes and she didn't know why. The troublesome girl took off and ran as fast as she could towards the giant body of water that rested on the school grounds. Running completely on compulsion, she dove into the dark lake.

Night was beginning to arrive and she knew she should be inside starting on her Head Girl rounds, but she couldn't care less. The water was still in a swimmable state of warmth left over by the summer. Refusing to come up for air, Hermione's head began to swirl. She continued to keep her head under though her lungs started to burn.

Every fiber of her body ignited. So this was what it felt like to drown.

The splash next to her was unnoticed by any of her senses. She felt her body engulfed by a pair of strong arms and drug to the surface of the water. The lack of oxygen in her body had weakened her to the point of slowly slipping into a state of unconsciousness. Hermione felt herself being carried onto solid land. A gasping body fell beside her and sputtered incoherent words of anger.

"No," Hermione whimpered. "Put me back, please. Put me back in the water, Harry." The air around her was foreign, locking her in a repulsive state of rejuvenation. She didn't want to revive, she wanted her lungs to fill with water and die.

"What the hell are you trying to pull, Granger?" Draco heaved.

Wrong voice. Wrong person. But Hermione blacked out before that thought could process.


	5. Chapter Four

**No more installments after this until I get some feekback...**

**Chapter Four**

_A soft knock on the door broke her train of thought. Hermione didn't turn around to see who had entered the room until she heard the soft voice calling to her._

"_Mum?" Evelyn asked as she took a step into the room. Hermione turned around and smiled at her daughter, motioning for her to come and sit by her. Evelyn crossed the room and took a seat by the empty chair next to her. _

"_What are you doing?" she asked curiously. _

"_Just thinking," Hermione replied whimsically._

"_Are you thinking about daddy again?" Evelyn asked._

_Hermione nodded as the smile on her face faded to sadness. Evelyn knew better than to ask when she already knew the answer. That was one of the many things her mother had taught her._

_She had heard the story of her father many times. It used to be her bed night story when she was much younger. She had never met him, but had once believed just like Hermione that he would come home to her. That was long ago when the war was still amidst. When she grew out of her pretty frilly dresses and pink ribbons, she also grew out of that fantasy. It had broken Hermione heart the first time she had stated that he wasn't coming back, that she had stopped believing. _

"_Did I ever tell you about the time he had saved my life from drowning?" Hermione asked hopefully. She missed the days when Evelyn used to believe. She missed how big-eyed she would get when hearing one of their stories._

"_Yes, you have, mum. Many times," she answered back sympathetically._

"_Did I ever tell you why?" Hermione asked._

_Evelyn smiled sadly at her mother. She gently patted her on the leg and stood up, making her way to the door. As she began to close it, she stopped and turned back to her._

"_Because he loved you mum, because he loved you." She said in a light whisper and left._

_Hermione turned back to the window and sighed._

"_I meant why I was drowning."

* * *

_

Hermione sputtered and coughed the last bit of water caught in her lungs. Her body trembled as a wave of realization hit her.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"I saw you running through the hall and out the door so I followed you," Draco snapped annoyed. As far as he was concerned, she was in no situation to be asking the questions.

"Why did you save me?" Hermione continued as if his answer meant nothing.

Draco looked at her mildly stunned. "What was I supposed to do? Let you drown?" he practically yelled.

A single tear escaped from Hermione's already burning eyes.

"Yes!" she shot out painfully. Her head began screaming at how everything was ruined. He was sure to run off to a teacher now and tell them everything. They'd send her to one of those places they ship off suicidal maniacs to.

However, he didn't run off. He didn't spill the event to the nearest person. Instead, Draco sat beside her completely still and silent. Hermione looked at him and saw something in his demeanor that she had never seen before.

She didn't know what it was, and she didn't like it too much.

"You actually wanted to drown?" Draco asked after an eternity of silence.

Hermione nodded slightly.

"Why?"

She didn't answer, and found herself curling into a small ball. She was so ashamed. She wanted to give up her life and she couldn't explain why. People would kill to live the life she had. Hermione was the top student at school, a brilliant witch, and had friends worth dieing for. Yet she preferred death.

To her it wasn't so much a question of why she wanted to die, but a question of why she wanted to live. When she debated the pros and cons like the logical thinker she was, no answer came to mind. Like there was logic in this sort of debate in the first place.

Hermione began to cry. The emotions inside of her had built up to a point she could no longer control. Draco gathered her into his arms with no hesitation. He began running his fingers, to the best of his ability, through her soaking wet mop of hair.

No more questions were asked. No more presumptions were made. There they sat, on the bank of the lake, together with no hostility for the first time since they had known each other. One was a girl torn up inside, who had everything and nothing at all. The other was the boy holding her, seeking the same thing she was without even knowing it.

Not one other person in the castle behind them even sensed their absence.

* * *

It would have appeared that Draco was walking Hermione to her room, had they not been the head boy and girl and shared the same living quarters. The corridors were silent, dark, and void of any other life. The emptiness created a sort of awkwardness between the couple. Every now and then Draco would sneak a peak at Hermione, only to find the same blank expression each and every single time. He felt as if he should say something, but felt at a loss as to what he should say. 

Reaching the painting that protected their rooms, Draco muttered the password and motioned for Hermione to go in first. They were greeted with warmth and the calm sound of a crackling fire slowly dieing down.

"Well, I guess I'll be off to bed then," Hermione said monotonously. To be blunt, she didn't know how to react to this situation. She had just been saved from a near death experience; most would be grateful to be breathing, yet she was as empty as ever. Without another word, she turned and headed to her room.

"You will be in class tomorrow?" Draco asked. He feared she would try to pull something in the middle of the night. Nothing was really stopping her. Hermione sighed and continued to walk to her room.

"I suppose," she said rather dejectedly.

"Promise?"

She paused in mid-step and turned slowly to him. Her eyes showed exhaustion and her words hinted annoyance as she spoke.

"What does it matter to you, Malfoy?" Hermione asked.

"It doesn't," Draco said pointedly. "But I just spent half my night holding a sobbing girl in my arms that I just jumped into a lake to save. I don't want that to go to waste when I find her dead in her room the next morning."

Hermione rolled her eyes, almost laughing to herself at the expected statement. Shaking her head slightly, she closed her eyes and rubbed the headache beginning to form between them.

"I promise," she finally said and left the room.

For some odd reason Draco felt compelled to follow her. He really didn't want to leave her alone tonight, and that bothered him to no end. Instead, he drug his worn out body to him own room and flung himself into bed. Falling fast asleep, the last image that clouded his mind was the set of her tearful eyes.

And for the first time he actually cared.

* * *

Light. Pain. Agony. 

It all spilled into her room at the same time as the swishing of curtains woke Hermione from her sleep.

"Bloody hell," she groaned, using her pillow as a weapon to shield her from the harsh rays of morning.

"Language," Draco Malfoy tisked as he brushed past her bed to the near empty closet alongside the opposite wall. With a flick of his wrist he opened the doors, unsurprised by the vast appearance of clothing choice. He grabbed the one and only outfit, a school uniform, and tossed it on Hermione's bed.

"So you're my nanny now are you?" Hermione asked baffled, still fighting the mixture of dizziness, pain, and drowsiness swimming in her head.

Draco made no attempt to find amusement in the question.

"You made a promise, now get up," he said without enthusiasm and left her room, nearly slamming the door shut. It was as if Hermione was seven and he had to see her off to the bus stop on time. In some alternate universe one could call it cute, to Hermione it was belittling and condescending. She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest in a proud manner. However, seeing as her point would get across to no one, being that there was no one else in the room, she declined her urge to fight back and tenderly wiggled her way out of bed.

She dressed herself in her disheveled uniform and didn't bother to use her wand to smooth out any wrinkles. Barely brushing her hair, she performed her routine morning tasks of freshening up. Looking in the mirror for the first time she jumped a little, startled by the reflection gazing back.

Her eyes were hollow and sunken in, accompanied by dark underlines that reminded her of people who had experiences they wish didn't exist. People like Professor Snape. Hermione shook her head, trying in earnest to erase the mental picture of the professor's eyes, eroded throughout time by the things he had seen that should not have been seen by anyone.

She contemplated outlining her vacant features with the black eye liner she had grown to like in a sadistic way. However, her headache was still pounding and she longed to be out as quickly as possible. Skipping the make up, she threw her bag over her shoulder and sped out of the room.

"You're welcome," Draco drawled from the couch across the common area. He looked placid and comfortable, as if the first class' bell from five minutes ago didn't affect him at all.

"Are you not coming?" Hermione asked. At this point she half expected him to walk her to her classes.

"I have business to attend to," Draco said pointedly. Figuring that to be the extent of the day's conversation, Hermione adjusted her satchel on her shoulder and left.

As soon as she evacuated her presence, Draco rose from his seated position and walked to the fireplace, grabbing something from his pocket. Opening the small bag, he threw a pinch of its contents into the flames. After a hissing sound and a vibrant green light emitted, he took a step in the fireplace.

"Bridgington Manor!" he stated clearly and firmly. In a flash, he was gone and the ashes of the fire soon floated down to their normal establishment.


	6. Chapter Five

**_Read and Review please. I could really use some feedback!_**

Chapter Five

A thin, cold breeze drifted the dead leaves across like a merry-go-round. The musty, damp smell that inhabited the senses suggested rain has fallen not too long ago. Though morning had just begun, the ambience of the castle told other wise. This region had sacrificed itself completely to dark magic and therefore would never in turn see the light of day again. Not that the owner wanted to in the first place.

Draco placed his wand back in his cloak. After using the Floo Powder to transport himself to the Bridgington Manor, he had to apparate several times before coming across this ancient house of hell. It was a safety procedure used only among the select few who knew the whereabouts of it.

A castle. Not just any, but one that was once inhabited by Mary Tudor, the only surviving daughter of Henry the Eighth and his first wife. Muggle history texts books tell the story of Mary as a devout Catholic Queen who ordered nearly three hundred people to a burning death for treason and heresy. As time went on, children used her tale to inspire the ghost story of Bloody Mary. It is said among the muggles that if one were to say her name three times in a dark bathroom while rotating in a circle, she would appear in the mirror and bring death to him or her. Of course most were too scared to try it.

Draco knew better than to think of Bloody Mary as a mere mirror trick. What was not told in those texts books was the other side of Mary Tudors' story. The side that included the magical community and a pact with a powerful wizard.

After her mother's death, Mary was tricked into signing a formal submission letter made by the Bishop Cromwell as an attempt to keep her own life and not be sent to the gallows. She never knew of Cromwell's magical world, nor that she had signed her soul to him. A curse was placed on her, forcing her to wander throughout the invisible plane of damned spirits and unmentionable demons. Her castle was wiped off the maps and radars of both wizards and muggles alike and had not been seen since.

That is, until now.

Draco's arm still tingled slightly from the Dark Mark that had been on fire an hour before. As if bored of the ghastly view outside, he trudged his way in through the giant steel doors. The rusty creeks and moans of the hinges scraped at his ears. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard.

The bare, stone walls and chipped, marble floor could easily put Hogwarts' dungeons to shame. What was once elegance and sophistication was now rot and filth. The scent of blood lust and vengeance always lingered in the air. Every footstep echoed in the empty corridor, bouncing off the stone like musical acoustics. The song of his lonely stride was comforting.

Then there was a scream.

Draco paused, unsure if he was to continue his direction or come back at another time. Before he had much chance to decide, a crippled figure slid from behind one of the many doors aligning the hall. With a loud thud the door was closed and the thing that had exited spotted him.

"Mr. Malfoy," Wormtail stammered, "you are late. The Dark Lord will be very displeased with you."

Draco ceased to make any movement of discomfort or weariness. "No," he stated with not a hint of amusement. "The only person he will be displeased with is you for wasting more of his precious seconds with babble and uncertain threats."

Wormtail gave an ever so slight squeak and shrunk away. Without another glance, Draco made his way through the door. He heard the same scream again upon entering the connected lounge. The screams of women were always the worst, so it made no surprise that they were the most common here. It was the Dark Lord's preferred soundtrack; women and children begging for their lives.

As Draco made his journey up the never ending staircase, the screams grew louder and more horrid. No doubt the Dark Lord was having his morning entertainment of watching the torture session of a young innocent woman, maybe even a girl. Draco dreaded the image he knew he was sure to walk in on. He had been by Voldemort's side on several occasions to witness this sick and twisted love of pain. Though the sight never made him cringe, he still would rather the girl to just be dead than enduring curse after curse.

At the top of the stairs and the end of the corridor was a single door leading to a single room. Without hesitation or consideration of interruption Draco opened it and led his way in. He made no acknowledgment of any other presence in the room and swiftly stood by Lord Voldemort's throne.

One of the Death Eaters threw another dark curse at the girl chained upside down from the ceiling in the middle of the room. The Dark Lord chuckled as she twitched and screamed bloody murder.

"You're late," he rasped without looking at the visitor to his left.

"I thought we had a deal," Draco huffed. "You wouldn't call for me while I'm at Hogwarts and I'd always be on time."

"You should be on time no matter when and where I call for you."

Draco resisted the urge to rolls his eyes. There was only so much he could get away with before receiving punishment for his behavior. Lord Voldemort would never tolerate such an act of disrespect.

"Being on time is easier said than done when placed in such a high secured place as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my liege. Forgive me for circumstances beyond my control," he stated sarcastically.

Another scream was emitted from the girl as Draco's patience began running thin.

"I assume there is something important you would like to discuss with me, my lord. As much as I would love to stay for the—" Draco pointed behind him "—festivities, I must be on my way. I wish not to arouse any suspicions among the staff at school."

Lord Voldemort waived his wand, silencing the young girl's shrieks. With another flick of the wrist a chair appeared out of thin air.

"Take a seat, young Malfoy," he hissed.

"And if I preferred to stand?"

"Then you would prefer to switch places with her," Voldemort said as he pointed a bony finger to the girl dangling from the ceiling.

"As you wish, my lord," Draco said with a long bow before seating himself in the chair.

"Now," Voldemort continued with a grin of satisfaction, "I have indeed called you here on special and significant terms. It is my deepest regret to have to inform you that your father—"

"Lucius Malfoy was no father to me," Draco interjected hotly.

"Then it will be of no concern to you of what I have to say about him, will it? Perhaps I shall stay silent and consider my words to be of no consequence and therefore useless? Is that how you view me, young Malfoy? Useless and unworthy of achieving anything? Is that the lord you find me to be?" Voldemort hissed while rising from his throne and leveling his wand.

Draco immediately sought refuge to the ground, kneeling and apologizing.

"My lord," he said, feeling like a rubbish sycophant. "I meant nothing by what I said. Your spoken words hold more value than life itself. I would gladly exchange mine for death just to hear them over and over. Please, lord, forgive me and tell what news you bring to me from my father."

Another satisfied grin swept across Voldemort's distorted face and he lowered his wand and sat back down.

"Rise, young Malfoy," he demanded, "and sit again before me."

Draco did as he was told, cursing himself for his cowardly acts. He should bow to no man, but instead finds himself doing so with humiliation and disgrace.

"You're interruptions and constant need to bicker is starting to wear my patience," Voldemort murmured. "As I said before, it is my deepest regret to inform you that your father will no longer be part of any future activities we have planned."

"Why?"

"He is most unfortunately deceased."

The news brought a mixture of feelings hurdling towards Draco. He didn't quite understand. Flummoxed, he asked, "What do you mean he's deceased?"

"He's dead," the Dark Lord stated with no emotion. He spoke of the situation as if Lucius was a toy that sadly broke, but could be replaced in a jiffy. "I realize this comes as quite a shock to you, but we must move on! No time to dawdle in the past!" With that he stood up, motioning for Draco to do the same and follow close behind.

"Because of your father's unexpected departure," he said while pacing his way to the center of the room, "You have been left with whatever responsibilities you don't currently have that he did."

Draco snorted at the humorless joke. As far as he knew, there were no responsibilities that his late father had that he didn't share or control. Draco did practically everything for the Dark Lord that mattered. Lucius hadn't conducted a single raid or interrogation since he became a Death Eater. That was the beauty of it; a son controlling the father that had once locked him in pitch black dungeons for days at a time with no food or drink. A son who commanded the father that once tortured him for trivial things. Glorious.

"And what, precisely, did he leave behind?" Draco asked, feeling hilarity for the first time that day.

"There was a family," Voldemort said as he stood in front of the hanging girl. "A family of three that he was to take care of. I left the job to him for it seemed petty and contemptible for my favorite follower." He gave a side glance to Draco before turning back to the girl. Reaching out a mangled hand, he gently trickled his fingers through her matted, blood soaked hair. "Apparently I underestimated his capabilities. It was a task to arduous for him. One person survived, and I expect you to change that."

Draco nodded. "I will, my lord," he said before turning to leave. Half way through the door he paused. "And the name of this escapee?"

"Hermione Granger," Voldemort replied. "I believe you are acquainted with her?"

"I am," Draco stated, nearly frozen in his place.

"Then it will be of no trouble, will it?"

Draco hesitated and closed his eyes.

"It will be of no trouble, will it, young Malfoy?" Voldemort hissed again.

"No, my lord," Draco replied. "It won't."


	7. Chapter Six

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, just the plot.

Chapter Six

His legs felt like lead as he forced them to travel through the halls of the school. It was incomprehensible to him how the past events were being played out before his eyes like a movie. Like a nightmare.

_"There was a family"_

He could see himself. He could see the Dark Lord. He could hear the voices.

_"A family of three that he was to take care of. I left the job to him for it seemed petty and contemptible for my favorite follower."_

The words were crisp, clear, like this out of body experience was happening now instead of in the past. Draco trailed his fingers along the brick walls of the corridor to balance himself, feeling the urge to be sick and pass out and any given time. Had somebody cast a spell on him without his knowledge?

There was Voldemort, right in front of him, of both of him, recalling the death of his father. It was inconceivable.

_"Apparently I underestimated his capabilities. It was a task to arduous for him. One person survived, and I expect you to change that."_

As his eyes continued to play tricks on him, Draco came to his final destination. His stomach churned violently as he slowly pulled his wand from his robes and traveled the hall to the library. His task was pretty simple: get in, kill, flee Hogwarts, and report back to the Dark Lord. All preparations after that had been taken care of. He had until midnight to get the job done. His invisibility cloak billowed beneath his silent strides.

The scene continued to unfold until it came to the worse part. The part that almost made him lose it.

_"And the name of this escapee?"_

_"Hermione Granger."_

Draco rounded the corner of one of the bookshelves. The stone cold features of his face softened in the dim light of the room as his eyes settled upon his victim. No, he could not call her his victim.

She sat alone in the far corner of the library. Book after book stacked its way on the table in front of her as she sat with one leg tucked under her body. Her hair was ten shades of a mess, pulled back in what could only be described as a poor attempt of a pony tail tied earlier that morning and untouched since.

Hermione had done him a favor really, killing his father. She had set him free without even realizing it.

He would have given anything to have been there, to have seen the look on his face when he knew that he had been defeated by a Mudblood. That would have been the greatest satisfaction of all.

Hermione unglued her eyes from the book she was reading and sat back, stretching her arms and trying to gain life in her tired, aching body. Draco sighed, leaning slightly against the bookshelf.

"I can't…" he whispered to himself.

Turning away from the golden sight he could already feel himself slipping into his own death sentence as he walked back to his room. His slid his wand back into his robes and could already feel the first step towards digging his own grave.

* * *

She couldn't sleep; she never could. However, the sleepless states of insomnia were starting to get to her, and seemed to cause more and more trouble on every other aspect of her life. Laying on her back, Hermione stared up towards the ceiling, thinking it would somehow produce a sleeping potion out of thin air. After several minutes and no apparent success, she groaned and rolled out of bed. 

Disheveled and frustrated, she trudged her way out of the room. A warm fire was lit in the common room, creating a soft glow not unpleasant to her tired eyes. Sitting in a cushioned chair in front of it, Draco basked in the warmth the flames emitted. His complexion wasn't as pale and seemed more inviting in this light. Hints of red and orange flickered across his masculine structures, making him all the more beautiful.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, not giving a single glance in Hermione's direction. At first she hadn't realized he had spoken to her. Looking around the room, she blushed when she came to the conclusion that she was the only one there, and therefore the only one meant to have received the question.

"No," she stated simply, slowly inching her way to the other cushioned chair in front of the fire.

"Do you realize how late it is?" Draco asked. Hermione paused in place. She couldn't help but feel a bit baffled at the question. Actually, it wasn't quite so much the question as it was the way it was asked. She detected a bit of—what was it?—thoughtfulness in its depths that she didn't think could come from one such as Draco Malfoy.

"I don't see you asleep," she replied with a glimmer of annoyance. Draco smirked to himself and chuckled softly.

"I don't sleep," he said offhandedly, as if sleep was something only normal people did. Hermione thought nothing of the statement and continued her path to the chair once more. She sat down quietly, contemplating what to say next. Looking towards the fireplace, she noticed the flames slowing starting to dissipate.

"The fire's dieing," she commented to herself.

"Fire's an odd thing," Draco said, still not looking at her. "It's one of natures most beautiful forms of disaster. It's brilliant how something so spectacular and captivating can kill like it's nothing. Something so strong that it can't be controlled, yet it can die like everything else in the world."

Hermione had pondered in the past about the essence of fire. However, she never thought twice about the last statement Draco made. It can die like everything else in the world. The way he said it made it seem like he was slandering fire as much as he was admiring it. Like he found death repulsive, but worshipped it all the same.

"I jumped once," he said. Hermione looked at him and said nothing. As much as she understood the statement, she couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of confusion. Before she could ask, though, Draco already had the answer.

"Off a cliff," he continued. "The water beckoned me, so I jumped."

"Why?" Hermione asked. Completely ignoring her question, Draco chuckled again, and a fire of his own lit in his eyes.

"Funny thing is…" he whispered, turning to face Hermione for the first time, not only that night, but for the first time ever. "I didn't expect to live."

Silence filled the room with a sudden vast coldness not even the fire could break through. A chill ran down Hermione's spine and she could feel the tiny goose bumps form on her arms.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"For what?" Draco asked.

"That it didn't work."

She didn't know why she said it. It made sense though. She had tried the game of suicide multiple times herself. It was understandable how disappointing it could be to face something like that and come out alive.

Draco stood up out of his chair and leaned in on Hermione, placing his hands on the armrest on either side of her. Hermione found herself frozen in place, almost afraid she had said the wrong thing to upset him. Draco swiftly closed in the space between them until his face hovered centimeters away from hers.

"I'm not," he whispered almost inaudibly. "I'm not sorry that it didn't work. I'm not sorry I lived. Not now…"

Draco kissed her. It was so soft and gentle you could have mistaken it from even happening in the first place. The fire crackled next to them, humming a sweet sound of repressed emotions being let loose. Draco's hand traveled up and cupped Hermione's face, continuing the kiss ever so slightly.

Before she knew it, he was gone. The empty space that was once him hit her like icy knives. Her lips seemed to have gone numb from the coldness of his absence, making her wish he could be there once again to warm them up with his kiss.

Hermione opened her eyes to see his shadow creep into his room before the door closed and a soft click was heard.

Slowly, the tiniest of smiles played its way across her face and her eyes lit up almost unnoticeably. Raising up from her chair, Hermione walked back into her room. Slipping into her bed for the second time that night, she fell fast into the deep slumber she had been craving for.

* * *

Many times people fool themselves into believing that they're something they're not. There's a fine line between denial and ignorance, and though crossing it may seem harmless, in the end one must come to terms with which one they chose. 

Draco chose to live. Though he had jumped off that cliff he knew the only way he survived was out of sheer will to live. He didn't know why he wanted life, and that to him was the beauty of it. When he was younger he used to love putting muggle jigsaw puzzles together. There were no specific instructions, no way of telling which piece went where. It all came down to him and his decisions. That fascinated him. Draco loved making decisions. He loved putting the pieces together.

Life was one giant puzzle with no instructions. Draco wasn't much of a believer in fate, but he knew every decision he made changed what final destiny he might have, whether he believed in it or not. His decision to jump was a way of telling him that something was wrong. Sounds stupid, right? Something he could surely have known without facing the bitter cold water and the torment it brought.

Jumping also had another advantage. It showed him that his will to survive was a lot stronger than he thought. Where Draco only saw death as the final resolution to everything, he never stopped to consider life as an alternative. Because he lived, he could now see that.

Kissing Hermione was another story though. While he could somewhat grasp the outcomes of his previous actions, engaging in an intimate gesture such as this completely baffled him. Wasn't he supposed to hate her? Weren't they supposed to be enemies? Didn't Voldemort instruct him to _kill_ her?

Maybe that was it! Maybe that's what it all boiled down to; being fooled into a life you don't want. Draco never chose to hate Hermione. He had said things in the past as consequence to his upbringing. He said and did what he thought was appropriate for his background. He never wanted to be enemies, it just seemed like the natural thing for the two of them to be. Hermione was a muggle-born, contamination to the wizard world. Draco was pure-blood, more sophisticated and superior to the likes of her. Or was he?

Thinking back in the strands of time only proved to show Draco how truly wrong he used to be. If anything he was the filthy one, contaminating Hermione's rare beauty will his evil hatred. She was always strong, standing up to him when everyone else was too intimidated. She always gave her two cents, whether he liked it or not. She was the more sophisticated one, having more grace and poise with the way she handled situations than Draco could ever imagine.

She could teach him. Draco laughed at the thought. It was nonsense, and yet it was perfectly clear. Hermione could show him things he never would have given a double take to. Why not? He had nothing left to lose.

Draco had long given up his dream of being a Malfoy. He didn't want to do his father's bidding any more. It was wearing him down to nothing and that was his reason to take his own life.

Draco wasn't weak. Had he been weak, he would not have come out of that water with his heart still beating. Had he been weak, he would not be taking this new life he created for himself and forming into something he wanted to keep.

He wouldn't screw up this time. He wouldn't jump again. Draco had been given a second chance and he chose to make the best of it.

Hermione was the missing puzzle piece. She could make him whole. Not in the sense of a romantic whole, but a completeness one could never fulfill on one's own. She could teach him. She could resurrect him.

Draco sighed audibly causing a head or two to look in his direction. Snapping a few glares at people sent them back to their work. Finding it impossible to focus his attention back on his assignment, he lingered his eyes over to the girl sitting a few rows in front of him.

She was beautiful. Dark, deep, and swallowed in the pitch black night of depression, but beautiful. Hermione had jumped too once, Draco almost forgot about that. However, she didn't survive the way he had. She had been pulled from the water by the hands of someone else. His hands.

Draco wouldn't go so far as to say she was weak, but she didn't have the same strength he possessed. Sighing again, he rubbed his eyes hard trying to clear the headache pounding between his temples.

_Maybe Hermione wasn't the only one with something to offer._


End file.
